


Dear Love, I’ve never had to write a letter like this

by Kaesteranya



Category: Neon Genesis Evangelion
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-04
Updated: 2011-02-04
Packaged: 2017-10-15 09:22:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/159370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kaesteranya/pseuds/Kaesteranya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A message to a dead ex-boyfriend.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dear Love, I’ve never had to write a letter like this

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the 31 Days LJ Community theme for December 17, 2005.

Most of their trysts had been accomplished with the aid of alcohol, fucking on floors adorned with white computer printouts and brown napkins ring-stained by beer bottles or wine glasses. Even in her drunken stupor, his breath rank with all they had imbibed and digestive fluid, she’d thrill with the feel of him inside her, his weight on top of her, his fingers clumsily threading through her long hair, mussing it up.

 

Sometimes, when she would kneel down and take the length of him between her lips, she would feel like she was laying down for her father. The stubble was rough and new and otherwise delightful addition, but the cadence of his voice was the same. Small wonder her mother was bound to him, she’d think to herself, as she made him cum and he’d squirt right into her mouth.

 

He had been fond of cats and kittens alike when they were not together: blond species with bad eyesight and fond of leather, young red spitfires that bared their breasts to him in his office when they thought they were losing him, timid browns incapable of even catching mice much less standing up to a grizzled dog like him.

 

He had been an exhibitionist whenever they were together: hand moving under her skirt to pinch her thigh, hand cushioning itself against her buttocks during train rides to work making her think briefly that she was being molested by someone else, hand grasping her neck with fingers near her jaw line when they’d stand close enough for him to be her shadow.

 

Their last had been about lust and loneliness, not intoxication. He had moved inside her again, that cock of a spy, and on the highest point of her pleasure she was hard pressed to remember that he was the enemy and he was to die not through her kiss, but her gun.

 

She collected her memories of the time of them in a box that she tucked away in a small corner of her being, some ways distant but reachable through the vessels leading straight to her heart.


End file.
